


An Oxford Education

by LostGirl



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, D/s undertones, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Teacher-Student Relationship, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-05
Updated: 2014-09-05
Packaged: 2018-02-16 06:00:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2258466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostGirl/pseuds/LostGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Giles is a college professor and Wesley is his TA, and there is tension.  Of the sexual variety.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Oxford Education

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** All things BtVS and AtS belong to Joss Whedon and various corporate entities. I am neither.
> 
> Written for [](http://soft-princess.livejournal.com/profile)[**soft_princess**](http://soft-princess.livejournal.com/) (whose request is at the end of the fic), for the AU round of [](http://maleslashminis.livejournal.com/profile)[**maleslashminis**](http://maleslashminis.livejournal.com/) ([masterlist here](http://community.livejournal.com/maleslashminis/102819.html))! I hope you like it, sweetie! Huge thanks to [](http://mireille719.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://mireille719.livejournal.com/)**mireille719** , for the wonderful beta magic!

Professor Giles' office wasn't that far from Wesley's own. Their meeting was scheduled just after Giles' office hours, so Wesley ignored the few straggling students and knocked on the door.

"Come in," said Giles, sounding distracted. Wesley pushed the door open and closed it quietly behind him. He was nervous, but determined not to let that stop him from making a good impression.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Giles," he said, holding his breath as he waited to see how he was going to be greeted. He'd heard horror stories about a few of the professors who treated their TAs like personal assistants. Giles' name hadn't come up at all, one way or the other, and Wesley was hoping for the best.

Giles looked up then, pulling Wesley from his thoughts. Giles' gaze swept him head to toe, and Wesley felt his stomach lurch when Giles broke into a smile. "You must be Mr. Wyndam-Pryce."

"Wesley, please," Wesley said, stepping forward and thrusting out his hand for Giles to shake. In his eagerness, Wesley's jacket sleeve knocked over a picture frame on Giles' desk. "Oh, dear. I'm sorry," Wesley said, reaching down to set the frame aright.

"Quite all right," Giles said, gesturing at one of the chairs. "Have a seat. I have a copy of the lesson plan for you." Giles stood and pulled a file folder from one of his cabinets. He handed it to Wesley and then turned back to the cabinet, filing away several of the overstuffed folders that had been piled atop the cabinet.

Wesley should have been listening as Giles laid out his plan for the semester, but his mind kept wandering, as did his eyes, which only made things worse. Wesley felt his face heat up as he realized he'd been staring at Giles' arse.

Giving his head a shake, Wesley tried to clear his thoughts. It wasn't working. He tried to focus, his eyes whipping up and away from Dr. Giles' arse just as the man turned from the file cabinets.

"How does that sound?" he asked, and there was an amused sound to his voice. Wesley hoped he wasn't blushing as he nodded.

"It's fine, of-of course," Wesley stammered, desperately hoping that Giles hadn't gone over anything that wasn't already in the lesson plan.

He'd been thrilled to find out he would be TA-ing for Giles. He'd taken the man's classes, and Giles certainly knew his topic. The fact that he was also incredibly handsome hadn't been lost on Wesley, but he hadn't thought it would pose a problem. He hadn't realized, then, that there was quite a large difference between admiring Giles' arse from seven rows back in a large classroom and admiring Giles' arse close up, where he could be caught at it.

Giles handed Wesley another folder and then sat on the edge of his desk, regarding Wesley. "You'll be teaching this Friday's class, with me observing, and after we see how that goes, we'll discuss the schedule for the rest of the semester."

Wesley nodded, trying to hold Giles' gaze and finding that the spark of amusement in the man's eyes made him feel as if his thoughts were written quite clearly on his face.

"I think we'll work well together." Giles' tone was deeper than it had been a moment ago, and his eyes glinted. "Don't you agree?"

Wesley licked his lips nervously, and Giles' eyes seemed to dart down for a heartbeat, following the motion. But his gaze was back on Wesley's so quickly that Wesley thought he might have imagined that.

"I'll do my best, sir," Wesley said.

Giles quirked an eyebrow at him, his smile tilting until it was nearly a smirk. "Call me Rupert . . . for now."

"Right, of-of course . . . Rupert." Wesley felt stuck to the chair by Giles'--Rupert's--direct regard. He dearly hoped he wasn't blushing as much as he feared he was.

"Good lad," Rupert said, and there's no way he could have known how those words cut straight to Wesley's libido. Surely. Right? "I'll see you tomorrow, then."

\-----

'Tomorrow' found Wesley hurrying to Giles' office to help with the paper-grading. He'd just gotten out of an extremely boring class on historical architecture--a subject Wesley found only tangentially interesting to begin with--and he was rather looking forward to a few hours not thinking about how he could make his paper on the subject interesting.

 _Of course_ that's _what you're looking forward to,_ muttered a small voice in the back of Wesley head. He ignored it as best he could, knocking on Giles'--Rupert's--door.

Rupert was already bent to the task when Wesley entered. "Ah, there you are," Rupert said, and when he looked up there was a smile on his face.

Wesley found himself smiling back as he set aside his things and pulled his seat up to the desk. "Where shall I start?"

Rupert nodded to the stack of papers at his elbow. "Dive in wherever you like, and try to ignore the repetition of theme." Rupert's voice was dry, his eyes revealed his amusement.

Wesley grinned, taking about half the stack and diving in to the work. After the first three translations, Wesley felt his forehead furrowing. "You weren't joking. These three have all translated the same thing, badly, I might add."

"Hmmm?" Rupert raised his head, glancing at the papers though there was no real way he could be reading them upside down. "Yes, well, brace yourself. That passage is particularly popular. Coffee?"

"I think I may well need it," Wesley muttered, before realizing that he wasn't sitting there with a just anyone. Not a colleague, but his boss. "Er, I mean, yes, thank you."

Rupert chuckled, turning and pouring a cup from the coffee maker tucked in among two more piles of overstuffed file folders. Wesley tried not to think of that as a fire hazard and gratefully accepted the mug Rupert held out to him. Their fingers brushed as Wesley took the handle. Wesley's eyes darted to Rupert's face and their gazes met, held for what felt like a long time, though it probably hadn't been. There was something in Rupert's direct gaze that made Wesley's mouth feel suddenly dry.

He went to take a drink of his coffee and by the time Rupert got out, "Careful, it's--" Wesley was already trying to gulp down searing hot liquid and managing, mostly, to spill the contents of his cup everywhere.

"Bugger," Wesley muttered, shooting an apologetic glance at Rupert.

"It's nothing," Rupert said, grinning as he sopped up the spill with a few Kleenex pulled from the box on his desk. "You only hit one of them, and it'll dry out just fine."

Wesley found that, with Rupert grinning like that, he didn't feel nearly as embarrassed as he should. "I hope I didn't hit Lewis' paper, his actually looked promising."

"Don't get too excited," Rupert said, reaching out to dab at one of Wesley's cuff with the wad of Kleenex. The tips of his fingers brushed along the inside of Wesley's wrist and Wesley sucked in a--thankfully inaudible--gasp. Still, when he glanced up, Rupert's eyes were on him.

"Right," Wesley said, feeling his cheeks warm and unable to do a damn thing about it. He tried, very hard, to focus on the work.

Rupert's eyes were still on him, he could still _feel_ it, but he couldn't bring himself to look, too uncertain about what might happen if he did.

When next he happened to glance at Rupert's face, he wore that almost-smirk that made Wesley's stomach clench, and his face heat up all over again.

Wesley tried to convince himself it was nothing, that Rupert must think him a blushing fool, but somehow--no matter how he tried--a voice in his head kept reminding him of the warmth of skin brushing his, however briefly.

\-----

Wednesday was peaceful and utterly boring. For a few hours after his only class, Wesley sat in his broom-closet office and tried to work on either of the two papers he'd have to turn in soon. He found his mind kept turning back to the night before, to the way Rupert had squeezed his arm as they said their goodnights, to the way Rupert's eyes were often on him, to the warmth of Rupert's smile.

Soon, Wesley gave up on the papers, packed up his things, and left. He had to pull his coat tighter as he walked to his car.

"You're imagining things," he said aloud, and then shook his head at himself--standing outside talking to himself as he unlocked his car door. "You're also losing it."

There were other things he needed to focus on. Wesley could practically hear his father telling him that he was being lazy, wasting time. Shaking off the voice--there was a reason he didn't talk to his father anymore, after all, and whether the man was on the telephone or in his head, that reason still applied--Wesley took a deep breath of the chilly fall air and got into his car.

He had work tomorrow, and if he was going to get any paper-writing done tonight he needed to get home, where his brain wouldn't keep interrupting him with reasons he should pop up to Rupert's office.

At three am, when he woke to find himself drooling on his historical linguistics paper, Wesley admitted defeat. He didn't, however, admit to the dreams he'd been having. The fact that he hurried through a shower, jumped into sleep-pants, and rushed into bed was not at all a comment on how much he'd like to get back to that dream.

It wasn't.

Even he didn't believe himself.

\-----

"Lucky bastard," said Richard, one of the TAs with whom Wesley shared the broom closet office. Despite the fact that there was barely room for Wesley and the work he had spread out on the desk, Richard had propped himself against the sill of the tiny window and refused to take hints that Wesley was really trying to concentrate.

"Hmm?" Wesley said, hoping if he replied with nothing answers Richard would get bored with talking to himself and leave.

"Do you know what Sammy's doing for Professor Lenchen right now?"

"Hmm?"

"He's walking the man's aging terriers! Lenchen brings them in every day and makes Sammy walk them around campus! Matt's been teaching three out of every four of Doctor Shaw's classes, and I'm not teaching anything. I'm filing and grading, and being ignored the rest of the time!"

"Hmm." Wesley nodded, but more at the comparisons he was making between Sumerian and Babylonian than at anything Richard was saying.

"I don't think you realize how good you've got it, Wes," Richard began, and the headache that had been building all morning made itself known, pushing forward in his awareness so quickly that Wesley was momentarily dizzy.

"I don't think you know what you're talking about," Wesley muttered under his breath. Richard was already off again, too caught up in the sound of his own voice to hear what Wesley had said. Wesley dug in the desk drawer for the paracetamol kept there. All the TAs used it, and whoever emptied the bottle was responsible for buying the next.

Which explained why there was only one lonely tablet left. Sighing softly, Wesley took it, added one more thing to his to-do list, and then glanced at his watch.

"I've got to go," he said, mostly in an attempt to get Richard to shut up. It didn't really work, it just switched Richard's topic. Or rather, nudged it a little off center.

"Right. Of course you do. _You're_ teaching a class today. I might as well skip class all together. Not as if that wrinkly old bastard would notice."

Wesley actually rather liked Professor Sental, but he knew better than to even suggest such a thing to Richard. He'd already once been cornered into listening to all Professor Sental's 'faults,' most of which could be accounted for by an extreme desire not to be in the same room with Richard for too long. A desire Wesley rather shared just then.

"Remember, we're going out tonight!" Richard called as Wesley left. Wesley let the door shut behind him without pausing to acknowledge the demand. He had far too much to do and the last time he'd let Richard drag him out with Sammy and Matt he'd found out that alcohol made Richard chattier, made Sammy handsy, and made Matt . . . Well, unconscious, actually, though that probably had more to do with the bump on the head than with anything they'd had to drink.

Wesley made it to class before any of the students had arrived. Rupert was already there, or rather still there from a previous class. Wesley paused in the doorway, his eyes running over Rupert's back. He looked tense, and for a heartbeat Wesley was seized by a near-overwhelming desire to soothe that tension, to lay his hands on Rupert's shoulders and knead the muscles until they gave up the fight and relaxed. He could imagine the warmth and the feel of Rupert's skin beneath his fingers. In his mind, Rupert sighed, stretching his neck to the side, an invitation. Wesley's fingers slid down, over muscles that arched into his hands as he . . .

_Oh, dear God._

Before he'd realized what he was doing, Wesley had taken a step into the classroom, drawn by the picture his mind had painted. _You are definitely losing it._

"Giles," Wesley said as he hurried to his desk, set beside Rupert's. Rupert had never brought up Wesley's using his last name when they were in front of the students, and Wesley assumed he approved. He kept his head down, sure that his face would give away the thoughts he'd been having.

"Ah, Wesley," Rupert said, smiling at him and Wesley did his best to answer with a smile of his own. He didn't think he'd accomplished the feat when Rupert's eyebrows furrowed. "Is something wrong?"

"No." Wesley said, perhaps a little too quickly, if he gauged by Rupert's expression. "It's just this paper I have. It's due in three days and I've only got about three good paragraphs." He tried to make a joke out of it, throwing in a chuckle.

"Well," Rupert said, going back to his own work, though he did give Wesley a small smile. "If you like we can go over it together tonight. Get your ideas straight."

Wesley opened his mouth, entirely unsure what to say to that, and found himself already speaking. "That would be wonderful."

"Good lad," Rupert said, his voice deepening over the words. He reached out and brushed his fingers along Wesley's shoulder. Wesley was momentarily incapable of thought, let alone speech, and by the time he got his brain functioning, the students had begun pouring in. That might actually have been for the best, since Wesley couldn't find a tactful way to say 'I think spending any further time with you will lead to me making a total ass of myself.'

Instead, he tried very hard to block out the memory of Rupert's fingers and the words 'good lad,' as he stood up to begin class.

\-----

Despite Wesley's initial nervousness, Rupert and he quickly fell into the work. For an hour, Rupert asked him questions about his paper, about what he needed to say and how he wanted to deliver the information. Wesley found he enjoyed the discussion, despite the fact that he'd largely been avoiding thinking about those very things.

"Which would probably make the most impact if added to the conclusion," Wesley said, jotting down a quick note to remind himself. He glanced at his other notes and found he could see the paper unfolding in his head, see the comparisons he'd been having trouble making before. "Bloody marvelous," he muttered, before realizing that that wasn't exactly the kind of language he should be using.

He glanced up to find Rupert giving him an amused smile. He sat on the desk, not far away at all, and Wesley couldn't help but answer with a smile of his own. Rupert reached out, his touch light as his fingertips brushed along Wesley's knuckles. It was blatant, undeniable, and it made Wesley's stomach drop into his toes. Rupert's gaze held his, and Wesley didn't think he could look away, despite the blush he could feel warming his cheeks.

Swallowing hard against the lump in his throat, Wesley flicked his eyes down to Rupert's mouth and found it arranged in that almost-smirk. Rupert's fingers brushed up along his arm, cupping Wesley's face in his hand. He tilted Wesley's head back, bringing their eyes into contact again. Wesley heard himself make a small, wanting sound and then Rupert's mouth was on his, warm and hard and insistent. Wesley groaned into the kiss, groaned again when Rupert's tongue slid across his lips and between them.

The kiss was mostly one-sided, but only because Wesley couldn't seem to pull himself together. Rupert's free hand stroked his thigh, and that seemed to break whatever daze had held Wesley. His hand came up to rest on Rupert's knee, and he threw himself into the kiss with the desperation of a man who'd been thinking about this very thing for weeks.

Rupert's fingers slid down, brushing light touches along his neck before sliding down Wesley's chest. He tugged Wesley's shirt free of his pants and pushed his hand underneath. Wesley pulled away from the kiss long enough to gasp as the feel of skin on skin, then he dove back into the kiss, nipping at Rupert's lips, his hand stroking along Rupert's thigh.

Rupert leaned forward, biting along Wesley's jaw and then licking his way back to Wesley's ear. "There's a good lad," Rupert said, as Wesley's hand flitted along the inseam of Rupert's trousers.

Wesley groaned loudly, rolling his head back and arching up into Rupert's hands. Rupert chuckled against his ear, the sound dark and rough. "I see," Rupert said, his voice hoarse in Wesley's ear.

Rupert slid off the desk. The action brushed Wesley's hand along his body, up over Rupert's hardening cock and up along his chest until Rupert was kneeling in front of him and Wesley's hand was wrapped around Rupert's neck. Wesley couldn't seem to draw in enough breath to satisfy his lungs; Rupert's gaze held him as Rupert nudged his knees apart and knelt between them, undoing the buttons his of shirt.

"We should probably be quiet," Rupert said, but it took Wesley a moment to process the words. He was busy watching Rupert's mouth move, his mind coming up with a whole host of things he'd rather be seeing that mouth do.

Then the words broke through and Wesley blinked, remembering where they were. He swallowed hard, his breath coming even quicker. There could still be people in the offices on either side of Rupert's. There might even be students still about, students who might knock or . . .

"Should--" the word became a soft groan as Rupert tugged Wesley's undershirt free and lifted it, leaning forward to nip at Wesley's stomach. "Should we be doing this?" Wesley finally managed, though his hand had moved up on its own, his fingers tangling in Rupert's hair.

Rupert pulled back, and Wesley let out a soft, disappointed sound. Rupert looked up at him, eyes glinting, a mischievous smile tilting his lips. "Probably not," he said, the fingers of one hand tracing patterns against Wesley's chest and stomach. "Should I stop?"

Wesley's expression must have spoken his thoughts clearly, because Rupert took one look at his face and his smirk grew wider. He ducked his head again, nipping at the skin just above Wesley's navel. Wesley's fingers tightened in his hair, arching up into the sensation of Rupert's teeth scraping over sensitive skin.

Wesley choked back a moan, part of his brain insisting on straining his ears to catch even the softest footfalls in the hall outside. The rest of him was entirely involved in the feel of Rupert's mouth, his teeth and tongue, as they moved over him. That small part of Wesley's brain was soon just as overwhelmed as the rest of him.

One of Wesley's hands slipped inside the collar of Rupert's shirt, gripping the muscles there more tightly than he'd meant to. He had a fleeting thought that it was rather unfair that Rupert was still dressed, but then Rupert's fingers began undoing the fastening of Wesley's trousers, and all thoughts flew out of Wesley's head. Rupert's fingers stroked over Wesley's straining cock, and Wesley bit his own lip to keep from crying out.

"You look good like this," Rupert said, voice muffled against Wesley's stomach. Rupert tugged on his trousers, and Wesley managed to scrape together enough presence of mind to lift his hips up. "Debauched," he added, sliding a finger up along the inside of Wesley's thigh, scraping his fingernail lightly over the skin.

Wesley's hands seemed to have developed minds of their own. They moved over Rupert's back and shoulders, tugging his shirt free of his trousers and gathering it up so that Wesley could, finally, touch skin. Rupert's mouth moved lower, laying wet kisses up Wesley's thighs before tracing the waistband of Wesley's boxers with his tongue. Rupert nuzzled his aching cock and Wesley couldn't keep himself from groaning as Rupert chuckled and the vibrations sent a jolt of pleasure along Wesley's nerves.

Rupert mouthed his cock through the fabric of his boxers, laying teasing licks up and down the shaft. Wesley's grip tightened on Rupert's shoulder, small, desperate sounds escaping his lips no matter how hard he tried to hold them back. His hips jerked forward, silently begging for more, but Rupert wouldn't be rushed. His hands closed on Wesley's hips, the grip tight enough to leave bruises as he pressed Wesley back into the chair. The chair creaked alarmingly under the added weight, but Wesley barely heard it. The only thing he could think about was Rupert's lips moving over him, with only thin fabric between them.

"Please," he gasped, tossing his head back, his hips arching against the weight of Rupert's body.

"Well," Rupert said, the fingers of one hand releasing their grip in order to trace along the waistband of Wesley's boxers. They dipped inside, skimming across the head of Wesley's cock and making him whimper. "Since you asked so nicely."

Wesley opened eyes he didn't remember closing, watching as Rupert peeled back the boxers, revealing Wesley's straining cock. He leaned in and licked along it, his tongue rubbing against Wesley's foreskin and circling the head.

Wesley couldn't seem to catch his breath. He panted as if he was running a marathon and couldn't take his eyes of the crown of Rupert's head. The strokes of Rupert's tongue were short, sending shattering jolts straight to Wesley's balls, but doing little to satisfy the ache building inside.

Something of his desperation must have made it through; Rupert's lips wrapped around the head of Wesley's cock, sliding down to take in more of the shaft. Wesley groaned again, trying to keep his hips from jerking forward. Rupert's tongue rubbed along the underside and Wesley realized he was speaking, saying 'please' over and over again as his fingers dug into Rupert's shoulders.

Rupert's pace quickened, and Wesley bit down on a groan, throwing his head back and held on tight, his hips jerking shallowly with each dip of Rupert's head. The pressure built until Wesley felt as if he might explode. The rush of his heart was loud in his ears, a buzz of white noise through which he couldn't even hear himself. Rupert's hands moved on his hips, rubbing and stroking as Rupert's mouth did the same to his cock. Then one of Rupert's hands slipped down to squeeze and tug his balls.

Wesley had arched forward with the force of his orgasm, bending double over Rupert until his lips were nearly pressed to Rupert's head. He sucked both his lips between his teeth, biting down hard to keep himself from shouting. All the air seemed to leave his lungs anyway, and Wesley felt as if he'd collapsed in on himself. He fell back into the chair, limp and sated and grinning like a fool.

When he managed to pry his eyes open, Rupert was watching him with a hungry expression. Had he not been entirely exhausted, Wesley rather thought that look would have made him hard again. Rupert surged forward, kissing Wesley hard. Wesley's lips ached from where he'd bitten them, but he thought he could taste himself on Rupert's tongue and any pain was pushed to the back of his mind. He cupped Rupert's face in one weak, shaking hand, and reveled in the feel of stubble beneath his palm, in the firm lines and angles of Rupert's face.

Rupert's cock, hard and straining against the man's trousers, pressed against Wesley's thigh, and Wesley worked a hand between their bodies. His fingers were clumsy on the fastenings and the awkward angle didn't help, but Rupert kept murmuring encouragement against Wesley's lips.

He slipped his hand inside Rupert's boxers, his grip firm and sure as he stroked up and down the shaft. Rupert groaned into their kiss, his lips stumbling to a halt as Wesley stroked harder, gripped tighter. Wesley took over the kiss, his free hand curling around the back of Rupert's neck. He licked across Rupert's lips, nipped at them, and then nipped along Rupert's jaw line.

"God, yes," Rupert panted out, his hips thrusting hard into Wesley's hand. "That's it." Wesley loved the sound of Rupert's voice normally, but like this, hoarse and dark, it had to be one of the hottest things Wesley had ever heard. Rupert still gripped Wesley's hips, but now more to balance himself than to keep Wesley still. "So close."

Wesley loosened his grip, nipping at Rupert's ear. "Perhaps I should drive you just as crazy as you did me?"

Rupert groaned, his head falling forward to press against Wesley's chest, his hips still jerking hard, trying to get more friction for his aching cock.

"You might consider what I'll come up with for next time, if you do," Rupert growled, but when he raised his face to meet Wesley's gaze there was a dark amusement there, rather than annoyance.

Wesley's breath caught in his throat, his grip tightening around Rupert's cock as Wesley tried to process what Rupert had said. _For next time._ The knowledge that there would be a next time left little room for anything else. Then Rupert was kissing him, their bodies pressed tight together, Wesley's hand caught between them as Rupert jerked his hips forward and came, shuddering and groaning against Wesley's lips.

Wesley collapsed back into the chair, Rupert's weight pressing against him. They were both panting, though Wesley had mostly regained his breath. For a long heartbeat, he didn't move, and then he pulled his rather messy hand from between their bodies. He couldn't reach his own handkerchief, but Rupert offered his, and Wesley cleaned his hand off before laying it along Rupert's shoulder.

Rupert's weight felt good against him, pressing him deep into the chair. Wesley thought he might be able to stay just that way for a good long while and be content. His body still thrummed pleasantly from orgasm, and Rupert's breath gusted against his chest.

When they finally pulled apart, Wesley glanced down to find his trousers and stomach just as messy as his hand had been, and Rupert wasn't in any better condition. Though he probably should have been worrying about how he was going to get out of the building without tipping off everyone he passed as to what he'd been up to, Wesley found he couldn't particularly bring himself to care.

Rupert leaned back against his desk, sitting on his heels. His gaze raked Wesley up and down and that almost-smirk had become a full blown smirk. "Ravished is a good look on you," he said, his eyes seeming to linger on Wesley's lips.

Wesley didn't know what to say to that, but his smile seemed to be answer enough. "Although," Rupert added after a moment's consideration. "I like you blushing, too."

"Give me a few moments for my mind to recover and I'm sure I'll be blushing again," Wesley said, chuckling. Rupert got to his feet, pulling some Kleenex from the box on his desk and handing them to Wesley.

After Wesley had taken them, Rupert leaned in, a hand on either arm of the chair, his mouth just inches from Wesley. "Oh, I don't think getting you to blush will be a problem."

It sounded like a promise and, in answer, all Wesley could do was grin like an idiot. Rupert didn't seem to mind.

"Perhaps," Rupert said, straightening and cleaning himself up as best he could with the Kleenex, "we can celebrate you finishing your paper." Wesley knew there was something more coming, there was that dark mischief in Rupert's eyes again. "I find I'd rather like to see you bent over my desk."

Wesley swallowed hard, his imagination supplying pictures to go with Rupert's words.

"There we go," Rupert said, smirking. "I'm glad to see your mind has recovered." Rupert's hand came to rest on Wesley's shoulder. "I'd hate to think I permanently damaged it."

**Author's Note:**

> Request #2:  
> The pairing you want: Giles/Wesley  
> The setting/scenario you want: set in the '70's, at Oxford; Giles is a young-ish college teacher, and Wesley is his TA; Wesley is the one being  
> seduced, and Giles is persistent.  
> Two things you don't want: non-con,  
> Preferred maximum rating: FRAO


End file.
